


Ice and Beans

by President_Frankenstein



Series: Refried Beans [2]
Category: Camp Lazlo!
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Future AU, M/M, Post Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 08:49:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11528784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/President_Frankenstein/pseuds/President_Frankenstein
Summary: There's a heatwave on and Scoutmaster Slinkman turns to ever-reliable Camp Counselor Lazlo for suggestions about how to make the day bearable for the scouts.Ex-scoutmaster Lumpus doesn't take kindly to his idea.





	Ice and Beans

July had come to Camp Kidney, and with it, an insufferable heatwave. Without a single cloud in the sky, the white-hot sun unsparingly scorched cabin roofs, dried out plants and fields, and brought camp activities to a stand. Campers, advised against staying in their cabins, could be found lying flat on their backs in whatever shade was available. Even the lake was slightly too warm for a refreshing if murky swim.

Scoutmaster Slinkman rubbed a forearm across his slimy forehead, and tiptoed carefully among the campers as he distributed countless water bottles. He realized something had to be done when one camper, a little zebra named Calvin normally known for sharpness, tried to fling water upon himself, and accidentally all but threw the bottle at his own head. 

After Slinkman had iced his head and made sure he didn’t have a concussion, he wearily ran into the Scoutmaster’s Cabin, hopped over Lumpus, legs astride in a kiddie pool across from the TV, to the office, where he snatched up the microphone with noticeable desperation.

Time to call in the big guns.

“Attention, attention, will Camp Counselor Lazlo please report to the Scoutmaster’s Office immediate-”

And there was Lazlo, standing dutifully across the desk, saluting and not even panting for breath.

“-ly,” Slinkman finished, astounded. How did he do always do that?

“Camp Counselor Lazlo reporting to Scoutmaster’s Office for as yet undetermined duties, sir!” he bellowed.

“At ease, cop a squat,” smirked Slinkman, waving a hand to a chair. Lazlo sat down, looking unaffected by the heat as ever. Slinkman switched on a small desktop fan. It was only recirculating the hot, stagnant air, but at least it was keeping it moving. Lazlo sat in the “breeze,” unflinching as his bangs flapped.

“Lazlo,” Slinkman started, hands folded, “I’m going to be frank. I understand that you’re an… indefatigable optimist, but I’m sure you understand that things are getting pretty desperate out there.”

“Oh, Mr. Scoutmaster Slinkman,” beamed Lazlo, “Even my indefraggable optimism takes a backseat to realism every now and then.”

“Goodgood, that’s good,” Slinkman nodded quickly, “So, I was wondering, do you have any, uh, _ideas_ about what to do, before we get confirmed cases of heatstroke?”

“Oh, _I sure do,_ Mr. Scoutmaster Slinkman!” Lazlo declared, with feeling, “The campers will like it, I’ll like it, you’ll like it, Dave will like it, and Mrs. Doe-Lumpus will like it…” he trailed off, “but I doubt Mr. Lumpus will like it.”

“Realism does tend to take a backseat to the will of ‘The Iron Moose,’” Slinkman murmured ruefully, eyes rolling, “But, I’m afraid we’ll have to try anything. _Don’t tell him I said this_ , but he shouldn’t exactly have much say, considering he hasn’t been Scoutmaster for over ten y-”

“WHAT’S THAT ABOUT ME?!” screeched a voice from the next room. There was the sound of water pouring onto the floor, the rubber pool being shifted amid a few frustrated grunts, and Lumpus shuffled in the doorway, his lavender Hawaiian swim trunks still sopping wet.

“Well sir, uhhh…” Slinkman’s folded thumbs began twiddling by themselves, and his shoulders tightened, “As a retiree, you don’t exactly hold much clout in the Bean Scouts… in fact you’re technically trespassing by living he-”

“ **TRESPASSING?!** YOU JUST BITE YOUR TONGUE, MARK! SAYING THAT TO ME, _ME_ , WHO TOOK YOU IN STARVING FROM THE STREETS, AND GAVE YOU THE BEST JOB YOU EVER HAD!”

“I was fresh out of college and most certainly not starving. I also wouldn’t exactly call those first four years of unpaid internship a job-”

“Your first name is Mark?” Lazlo asked, still smiling, “I thought earlier you said it was Frank?”

“YOU KEEP OUT OF THIS, BANANA MOUTH!” snapped Lumpus, “Grown men are talking!”

“Sounds like grown men yellin’ t’me!” another voice came from upstairs.

“…Oh _puddin’ pops_ ,” whispered Lumpus, back straightening and hands folding behind his back instinctively. Mrs. Jane Doe-Lumpus marched into the doorway, a slippered foot tapping, and her hair akin to that of a swamp monster with bed head.

“I was a quarter-ways through givin’ myself a decent perm when I heard a seventy-something year old man yelling at my best friend and the cloosest thing we’ll ever get to a son?” she asked, knowingly.

“What? Ha! Ohoh noooo, Jane,” Lumpus grovelled, a nervous grin quivering on his lips, “I was just… getting aggressively passionate about Monkeyboy-”

“Lazlo, Al.”

“-Lazlo’s idea, yeah!” Lumpus chuckled, clenched fists on his hips and head shaking. “Me yell at our Camp Counselor, the idea. So, sport,” he squirmed, patting Lazlo’s shoulder, “What’s this bright, valid and completely accepted idea of yours?”

“I was thinking we could take the campers out to Prickly Pines for ice cream.”

“… **WHAT?!** NOT ON THE BEAN SCOUTS OF AMERICA’S DIME WE’RE NOT, AND ESPECIALLY NOT ON _MY ALLOWANCE!_ I’D SOONER LET THOSE FUTURELESS GADGET-CRAZED BUMS BAKE OU-”

“ _Al_ ,” intoned Jane. Lumpus paused, and brought his gesticulating scrawny arms down.

“Alright… fine. But if I see Monkeyboy feeding Lovebird ice cream, or see them do that thing, that… in the movies, that thing in the movies where they tap the ice cream cones on each other’s noses? _**I WILL VOMIT**_ , and proceed to make a scene. Maybe pretend to have a heart attack even, I dunno. Slinkman, round up the mouths we have to feed. Primate, either collect your boy toy or get on the bus single and regretting the inability to mingle.”

Lazlo hopped out, clapping, cooing out Dave's name before storming up the stairs. There were a few muffled words, something about an article on the failure of the local bicycle sharing program, and Dave stumbled down the stairs, hands still stained with ink, trilby at an odd angle, and his goofy suspenders coming off at the shoulders.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake, birdbrain, clean yourself up!” Lumpus snapped, “You’re writin’ about hippie dippie bike communism, not Watergate!”

“I’ll have you know that over _five hundred_ subscribers in our town value my articles,” Dave huffed, inky hands and forearms folding. Lazlo smirked, hugging a very surprised Dave from behind.

“And there’s one monkey in our camp who values the author of those ar-”

“ZIP IT, FURBALL! I wanna have an appetite when we get to the accursed place.”

“I’ll go finish my hair!” Jane called, running up the stairs, as so many people in this cabin tended to do.

“Ohhhhhhhhhh come on, JaaaAAaane?!” Lumpus called, from the bottom of the same stairs.

“I’ll be oonly a minute! You can time me! Get yer phoone and time me!” A hair dryer began to roar and wave to and fro.

“Attention campers, attention campers,” Slinkman almost whispered into the microphone, under Lumpus’ glare, “Please proceed to the bus. We’ll be getting ice cream in Prickly Pines. We leave in five, repeat, that’s _five_ minutes, or 1:36PM, Pacific Standard Time.”

The thirty or so bodies strewn across camp suddenly came to life, and made a beeline for the bus, chattering and joking as if nothing had happened. Lazlo and Dave were already heading for the door at a much more sedated pace, gossiping about flavors while they tried to rub the ink off Dave’s arms with a carry-on size bottle of hand sanitizer. Lumpus stared out the window, eyes narrowed.

“This is comin’ outta _yer_ paycheck, Mark, so I’d advise against allowing toppings if I were you.”


End file.
